1. Put yourself and your story out there. I know it’s supposed to be different, you vs. your story. But guys. I’m one of the weak ones. I find it difficult to separate myself from my words, when it comes right down to it. Love me, love my book, right? So if you don’t even want to see it, I cry. (See #2, below.) But the Really Hard Thing to do is to be bold. Do it. Expose your book, or else how is Magic Agent going to know it’s the Book of Dreams? Things that make this possible: Beta readers, critique partners, agentQuery.com, and queryTracker.com. Also Blue Bunny ice cream and a great deal of buttered popcorn.

2. Not cry. Remember “What About Bob?” I do. I love Bob. “I just treat them like a phone call. Bad connection? Hang up and try again.” It is a Really Hard Thing to take rejection gracefully. But we can do it. We can. We can even send a very short “Thanks Anyway” email, if we’re so inclined. We can breathe in and out. All day long. Things that make this possible: Lindt Excellence “touch of sea salt” Dark Chocolate Bars. And I don’t usually even like chocolate. Also a hot bath or a few episodes of White Collar. (Also, one “yes” goes a long way toward making me graceful about several “no”s, but that’s not really within my control.)

3. Write the cursed Query. Yup. Really Hard Thing. What? you say. It’s a PAGE long. Just write it, already. Yeah, okay, I answer you. But it’s the ONE PAGE that an agent will see and then say, “Holy cow. That is the most charming writer / fabulous story in the history of charming writers and fabulous stories. I must, must adore everything that person ever writes.” So there’s that tiny expectation of brilliance at the beginning. Also, there’s the conflicting advice. One agent says “This is a business letter.” Another says, “This is not a business letter.” One says, “Make me laugh.” Another says “Gimmicks are the death of your query.” (The only non-conflicting advice seems to be “Spell my name correctly, if you please.”) But we can write the letter. Things that make this possible: Remember you’ve already written the book. That should help a bit. Also, agentQuery.com has archives of query letters, along with “formulas” and success stories. And Chuck @ Writer’s Digest has this ongoing “Successful Queries” segment, where every couple of months he posts a (you guessed it, didn’t you?) successful query. Agents sometimes post good queries on their blogs. So go steal some good ideas. And then make them yours. And then ask people who read books to look at the letter. Would they want to read the story from your hook? Like that. Go get ‘em.

4. Tailor said query. Because agents are human (oh, yes they are), they’ll want different things. So it’s not a very good idea to create and send a totally bland, generic query. You sort of have to tweak it to each one’s needs, personality, and current wishes. Have you met him? Say so. Does she rep someone you read/love/know? Say so. Has she recently given an interview wherein she announced that what she’s REALLY looking for is a post-apocalyptic zombie mermaid story told in verse? And that’s just what you have, right there on your laptop? Mention it. The research alone for such tweaking can take FOREVER. Okay, not forever, but hours a day. Hours. And then there’s the actual rewriting. That is a Really Hard Thing. Things that make this possible: Hello, computers? Just let yourself imagine doing all this junk longhand. Smile about your privileges. Carry on. Also, if you’ve done #3, you have a solid basis. Just sand it, paint it, and tie a little bow on it. Or something.

5. Add a synopsis, sometimes. And that’s what we’re talking about today, my friends. (Oh, did you think I’d already done plenty of talking? Pardon.) Several of the agents I’ve contacted request a synopsis. According to most sources, this is a 500-1000-word document (3rd person, present tense) that Tells Your Story. Remember all that business about Show vs Tell? You have shown. That’s your book. Now tell. Sounds easy, right?

*chirp*

It was hard. I found myself starting paragraphs, deleting them, saying unladylike words, starting more paragraphs. Repeat. And repeat. So here’s what I finally did that worked for me. And it’s not rocket science, but it’s a beginning. Take it or leave it, as always. The thing that made this possible: In short phrases, I wrote what someone did. NOT what happened. There’s a difference, because you only have 500-1000 words, so you don’t want to go into all the psychology, the history, the backstory. What someone did. Like this: Verb direct object.

I made a list. Maybe you’re one of those character-laden people who outlines. Of so, you win at this part. Just copy stuff from your outline. (Another reason it might be good to learn to outline. I’ll take it under consideration. Maybe.) My list was about 18-20 sentence fragments that told (with an active verb) what someone did. If I saw the words “realized” “understood” or “learned” creeping into my list, I deleted them. That’s not an action.

Let’s do one.

Walks in woods
Sneaks into house
Eats porridge
Sits in chair
Breaks everything
Sleeps in bed
Wakes to Bears
Runs away

When my real list (not this super-classy one) took me from beginning to end of story, I made each sentence fragment a paragraph, or combined a few into one. Then, when all the verb/direct object fragments became paragraphs, I whittled down what was too wordy and plumped up what needed more detail to be understood. As you can tell from my list above, I didn’t list everything that happened in the story. I didn’t list every character’s viewpoint. I can fatten up some of those things in the paragraphs, but just enough to give the gist. Now that you’ve stunned them with your storytelling prowess, they’ll be once again stunned, upon reading your manuscript, that you can also WRITE. Which, as we all know, is not the same thing. Also, a synopsis, most websites will tell you, is not a movie trailer. Tell how the book ends. If this goes against your grain, too bad. Agents who ask for synopses want spoilers.

If the writing the synopsis part seems too much work, maybe you’re not ready to query. Did that sound harsh? It was meant to, kind of. Because, yes, “finishing” your novel is the end of your work.

Want to know which end?

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[1] assuming you’ve already done the Really Hard Thing of, you know, writing a fabulous book

I’ll tell you how it happens.

You just go ahead and live a little of your life and your blogging time diminishes to a little sparkly crystal of preciousness which you hold near your heart and stare at in your quiet moments.

Or something.

But we took a little family trip (to a sunny southern city) and we laughed and we hiked and we sang songs and we told funny stories and Kid 1 may have poured her coffee-machine hot cocoa into the bottom of her mug, forgetting that little detail of Turning the Mug Over. We swam and we fogged-in the hot-tub room and we ate 5 pounds of gummy worms among us. And those were a few really fun days.

But also. There was this other thing.

I’m querying, you see. And for me, querying is a mad mixture of exciting and horrible, much like cheese fondue or deep-fried anything. It feels so awesome right up until it starts feeling barf-inducing.

I’ve sent out several queries. I’ve gotten about 10% positive response. (No, Dad, that doesn’t mean offers of representation. That means people saying “That doesn’t sound too bad. Send the manuscript – or part of it – to me and I’ll have a look at it.” Which is so very, very positive. To me.) And I’ve gotten several very polite rejections.

Rejections, polite or otherwise, make me sad.

Because as much as I’d like to say I can separate myself from my work, it’s PERSONAL. You know? It is. And a tiny part of me wants to knock on the metaphorical doors of these nice people and say, “But LOOK at me. I’m nice. I’m groomed. I’m wearing accessories. And also, I know how to write a book that is Good.”

Which, naturally, I can’t say to them, because that’s not how it works.

Which, naturally, causes ulcers.

Naturally.

So I live with it. I put on a happy face and I do a few deep sighs once in a while. I send out five more queries. I eat a piece of something delicious (which was, up to yesterday, a square of almond toffee, but from now on until later, it will be something sugarless and without white flour, because also the one-pound-a-week thing isn’t working no matter how many positive thoughts I send its way. See note above re. gummy worms) and I move on.

Also, because I have had some successes (remember those positive responses?) I bought myself a book. “The Fault in our Stars” by John Green. I hope it’s glorious. I have reason to hope. Because he’s brilliant, and stuff. (But mine wasn’t signed. And I might have to do something about that. If you’re not a Nerdfighter, you may not know that JG signed like 150,000 copies of “TFIOS” for the first run. Who gets a first run printing of 150,000? John Green does.) **UPDATE: I looked it up. Only the PRE-ORDERED 150,000 books are signed. Pre-ordered. 150,000. Signed. Go, John Green. You go.

So, on we go, ulcers and rejections and smiles and carrot sticks and all.

So last night at the WIFYR mingle at The King’s English (I love you, The King’s English), Claudia Mills and I had a conversation that inspired me. (Not unusual to have that type of conversation with Claudia. She IS inspiring.) Here’s what we decided.

1. While publishing is very nice, of course, you can have a satisfying writer’s life w/o it. You can go on writing retreats with writer friends. You can join and enjoy critique groups. You can host a reading. In other words, you can introduce those parts of a writer’s life you think would be fun into your own life.

2. And speaking of fun, what’s the point if it isn’t? There are published authors (with a LOT of titles even) who can still grumble with great bitterness, “Look at everything I’ve done and what did it get me?” Where’s the joy in that?

Let’s have fun, you guys.

I love, love the idea of making The Fun a part of the writing experience. Because it should be fun, indeed. (And also work.) (But also fun.) This is why we choose to be writers, instead of paralegals or plumbers or tap-dance instructors — because writing and the write-y lifestyle can be so much fun. [1]

On that note, writing is happening here. (Insert happy noises.) A little at a time, and complete with some fun. The words come, the ideas come, the story grows, the word-count increases (why, why is that so important to me? oh, yeah. i’ve become one of those type-A types.) and It Is Good — the doing part. I’m not yet sure about the actual words. But that is not to be decided now. This is a first draft, remember?

[*DING*] Oh, look. It’s time to get outside with the kids and dig up more bulbs.

(Pray for us.)

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[1] I am certain that paralegal work can also be fun. And tap dancing. Plumbing? I’m receptive to arguments either way. But for me, it’s all about the writing. And the reading. Oh, the good, good reading. (Ha! Made you wait!)

(Do writers know that? Or am I the only one scared of a 4-paragraph letter?)

Anyway. I’m teaching Query Class to Mrs. G’s 8th grade honors lit classes today. And we’re making a great project. Want to hear all about it? Here it is. I taught them what a query is for, and how it’s written (leaning heavily on the AgentQuery website‘s fine advice). I talked about the “When…” formula for the hook, that goes “When (Main character) experiences (major inciting action) he must (crucial decision).” We talked about distilling a book to a paragraph synopsis (much, much easier to teach than to do). We talked about bios (and I read them a few, some from major award-winners, others from non-published first-timers), and about the all-important closing part, where you say “thanks for your time, and see how I’m really polite and professional?”

The project, then, is a book report. The kids will write to “an agent” and query the novel they’ve just read. They’ll find a killer hook. They’ll write a short synopsis. They’ll write the bio of the author, and request agency representation. Cute, right?

I love eighth grade.

(From the other side.)

I feel a little silly even writing a post like this, because, really, who cares? But some people have been asking. So that means someone cares. If it isn’t you, feel free to go get yourself an apple or a cupcake. I’ll promise not to be offended.

But here’s what’s happening.

I am seeking agency representation for my early-chapter reader series. That involves a lot of hair-pulling and self-doubt, a lot of Chex mix, and quite a bit more polite rejection than I would care to discuss.

I am working on a book that I outlined (*gasp*) several years ago on a trip to Maine. I know. Outlining. Who knew? But when I started the book, I wrote it in the fashion of Shannon Hale’s Goose Girl. Which is a wonderful, lovely book that I find time to read every couple of years, because I love it so. However, I don’t actually write like that. So I had some heavy feedback* on the first section and realized that I couldn’t do it. (Do you hear that negative talk? Do you? I do.) And then I tucked it into a folder (picture me kissing it goodnight, wedging a bedsheet under its little bum, turning off the light and running away, possibly forever) and ignored it for years.

I recently decided to come back to it, to try to write it in my voice, and to give it another shot. Which I am doing. In my voice. With dashes of sarcasm and irony and food and comedy. But the weirdest thing is that it’s fantasy-ish. Like, the kind of fantasy-ish book that I don’t really write. Until now. So hang on, and I’ll let you know if there’s anything to report. (Fantasy that does not include dwarves {dwarfs?} or swords or dragons, I’m just clarifying.)

Also, Monday I have a job interview. With the Substitute teaching people. So I can work once in a while, on days that I may feel like it. Because I can’t help thinking that it’s a good idea, now that all the Kids are in school all day anyway. I’m strangely excited about it. And I’ll probably need to get some wardrobe, seeing as I wear jeans almost every day in my ordinary life**. Hm. I wonder how much that wardrobe “need” influenced my subbing choice?

And I get to “help with a wedding reception” next week, which as we all know is just code for “gather with blog friends”. Bring it.

And then there’s my first cub scout event since my 35-year-old brother was a cub scout. I can’t imagine it’s worth the nightmares I’ve been nurturing. It will be AWESOME. I mean it.

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So, there you have it. Writing, reading (I have a long list of February books for you), Momming, and all that jazz.

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*There’s a post lurking here about deciding whose opinions will rule your life.

**Not including the hours between 8 pm and oh, let’s say 11 am, when I’m in yoga sweats.